


Broadcast Live

by orphan_account



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: M/M, Not explicit or graphic but it might be later, Please note the warnings, Pre-Canon, Pre-Game(s), Spoilers, There is no sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:11:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Someone's in his room in the middle of the night.It's uncomfortable.(The entire story is uncomfortable.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to write something cute for Valentine's but instead this showed up.  
> I'll probably still do something like that anyway.  
> Not sure if I'm going to continue this or not. The idea of it is interesting to me but I'm not sure I want to work with the plot and I'm not really into writing smut. I've never done it before.

The room is dark, but two figures form gradually out of the gloom. One lies prone on the bed. The other stands over it, still, fixated, as if hypnotized.

Slowly, shaking, the staring figure extends a hand with a tremor, cold and clammy with sweat, and brings it down to the body on the bed–

* * *

 

Kiibo's systems jerk online as he registers something brush against his chest, the sensation of damp fingers trailing a slow line down his body. He opens his mouth, about to shout, but a hand clamps down over it, hard fingers pressing against his lips, into his mouth. He's going to bite down, but–

"S-stop! Kiibo! It's me."

The whisperer is anxious, voice filled with urgency. He recognizes it. He stops struggling, and the hands lift away.

"...Saihara?" He checks his internal clock. It's 2 am.

"Did something happen...?" Did someone die?

"N-no!"

His reply comes just a bit too quickly.

Something about Saihara feels... off. He's stuttering and his eyes fly back and forth rapidly, never stopping. What is he looking at? It must be too dark for him to see. He suddenly backs off without warning, starting to pace in stiff, jerky movements.

It comes with a great sense of unease that Kiibo notices he's wearing his hat, pulled down so Kiibo can't see his face.

"I was just thinking, I–"

He stops, tugs the brim of his hat down hard (it doesn't go any lower), starts again–

"I was trying to sleep. I was thinking. I was sleeping."

"Saihara? Are you okay?" Kiibo's nervousness is obvious. There was no way Saihara was okay. He knew people weren't supposed to act like this, but he had no clue what he was supposed to do. Maybe he could calm him down?

"N-no, no, I'm good. I'm okay." He stops pacing mid-step, one foot raised up in the air. He rushes back over to his side, and now Kiibo can see his eyes staring down at him. They're stretched wide and motionless, the whites like searchlights in the dark.

They've found him.

"I was sleeping but I couldn't sleep. I was thinking, and I couldn't get the thoughts out of my head. I remembered something, but then... it was strange. It was strange," he monologues at him flatly in a endless stream. He doesn't blink once as he speaks.

"I was thinking... about you." At this distance, Kiibo can tell that his face is red with a dim sheen of sweat. His breath is hot and heavy against Kiibo's face.

Kiibo has never felt so terrified in his life.

He tries to get up, but a hand shoots forward to stop him, pins him back down onto the bed, presses him down into the mattress.

"No! No. Kiibo." Saihara blinks in a rapid succession before a wild smile takes over his face. He clambers onto the bed, leans in over him, so close their noses nearly touch, tilts his head. He still hasn't let go of him. He might even be gripping harder, fingers pressed tight into Kiibo's frame. "You trust me, right?"

No. Not right now. But what would Saihara do if he shook his head? He knows the other boy could overpower him easily. He nods, meekly, eyes full of fear. "W-what are you planning?" His voice cracks, and he hates it.

"I need to see something. It's important!" The last word comes out halfway between a scream and a whine. "Are you okay with this?" For a second, it almost sounds like the normal Saihara again, but then it doesn't.

"Say something!"

He nods again.

"Good... good," he murmurs, and presses his face down into Kiibo's. It's not a kiss (their lips don't touch), but his skin is warm against Kiibo's own, and he can feel himself heating up from the touch. Nothing like that seems to be on Saihara's mind, however– he's staring intently down into Kiibo's eyes like he's looking for something.

He brings his other hand up and strokes the surface, leaving pale prints that cloud his vision. Kiibo recoils. "H-hey! What!"

"Shhh," he whispers gently, calmingly. "So it's glass?" It seems to confirm something for him. He sounds focused, collected, now that he's working towards something, whatever it is.

"Yes! My eyes are coated with a very high-grade glass! Please do not touch them! They are very sensitive equipment, you could damage them and it would be difficult to repair in our current situation..." He's babbling.

"Don't be so loud." But he does move his hand away and pushes himself up and off Kiibo's body. He rearranges himself so he's straddling him at the waist, thin legs gripped tight against his body with a strength he wouldn't have expected, making sure to keep the one hand constantly pressing Kiibo down.

"Saihara!" He's shouting but it's so low, so quiet. "What are you doing!"

"I remembered," he smiles again, darkly. He laughs. "This is a show. You're the cameraman."

"No! I'm just a normal student!" What was he saying? Had Saihara gone crazy?

"You wouldn't know." He says it flatly. He no longer sounds manic and it scares Kiibo even more. "That's the point."

"But I know," and he lowers himself down, presses lips against lips (a first kiss, like this, Kiibo's mind overloads with the reality of it), exhales a soft gasp (a blast to his circuits) right by his ears when he breaks it off. "And I want to be noticed."

Kiibo whimpers. If his mouth could go dry, it would. "Saihara..." _Please stop_ , he wants to say, but he can't muster the words.

"Kiibo~" He smiles at him warmly, an inch from his face. His eyes are bright and cheery. "Doesn't this feel nice?" And he kisses him again, but this time it's deeper, his tongue pushing past his lips, into his mouth. It's a sensation he's never imagined.

He slams his eyes shut, drinking it all in. The air fills with the sound of Saihara's panting as he pulls back to breathe.

A hand grabs his chin, jerks his face up. "No! Open your eyes. Look at me!"

He does.

He's staring at him again, but this time it's like he's looking past him, into him, like he's just an object. His words confirm it. "Hiii, everyone!" His voice is giddy with excitement. Kiibo shudders. What had happened to Saihara to make him like this?

"I hope you all liked that! But, I'm going to give you even more of a show! Don't worry!" He laughs to himself, high-pitched and unstable. "It'll be TV-appropriate. Huuuuh~ isn't it funny how murder is okay but sex (he giggles, "woops, I hope I don't get censored for that!") isn't?"

He grinds himself against Kiibo's body suddenly and Kiibo lets out a strangled groan. "It's so dark though... I'm sure I can have a little fun," blowing hot breath onto his face with the words.

His hand drops Kiibo's chin and moves down and he's touching him again, fingers tracing down his neck, those same cold hands that woke him up bringing up a sweet terror in his memory. How had he overlooked that?

"Actually, I changed my mind." And suddenly that hand, both terrifying and arousing, is off his neck, is on his arm, hand circled tight, and suddenly, it _jerks_ back, hard–

He screams, and the other hand is there, clamping down again, and it's like he just woke up again except this time he knows who it is and what he wants and it's just all too terribly real.

"Shhhh." That same whisper.

And the hand jerks, and jerks, and jerks... his sensors scream at him in pain, you're breaking, you're being broken, wires pulled loose from their sockets and miniature joints bent, torn apart–

When it finally gives it's with such a quiet sound you wouldn't ever guess what had happened. It lies torn away from its connections under the covering of cloth, swings loose, useless. A low hum of open electricity sparks through the air. He's crying (or he would, if he could. He's crying as much as he can).

"Well. That was easy." Too easy. He sounds disappointed, but Saihara kisses him again. "Don't cry. Come on, stop. So you can feel that?" His voice is detached but idly curious. "Iruma can fix it, you don't have to worry."

He pulls his hand away from Kiibo's mouth gently. "Why are you doing this... are you going to kill me?" It comes out as a sob.

"No." He says it simply. "But you're not going to tell anybody about this."

"Hmm." He looks at him again, the same curiosity back in his glance. "Do you like me, Kiibo?"

 _No!_ , he wants to scream it at him, not anymore, how could he possibly like someone like _him_ , someone who would do something like this, but a voice in his head speaks louder, speaks before he can. "Yes," it says for him, using his mouth, and both Kiibo and Saihara are surprised.

"Wow, that's pretty strange."

He strokes Kiibo's hair lovingly.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was going to be about him taken apart piece by piece...  
> Or, at least with more of him dismantled.  
> But I thought that was kind of boring.


End file.
